For the cover art of a previous EP, National Skyline chose the image of an escalator bathed in lifeless, green light. Anything that might mar the studied austerity of the composition has been carefully removed, scrubbed to oblivion, or cordoned off beforehand. No signs of life dare intrude upon the visual, aural, and tactile silence of the non-scene. I suppose that the desired effect was one of emotional flat affect, or some posture of post-human self-contemplation, along the lines of the closing scenes of Kubrick's 2001: A Space Odyssey.

On Exit Now they pick up where that left off. This time, however, the mechanized antiseptic steps and sick, fixative light are replaced by a long-exposure photograph of Chicago's Lake Shore Drive at night. The numberless hordes of vehicles, and, by extension, their occupants, are abstracted into come-and-go trajectories-- immaculate yellow and red streaks on pavement. While the images are different, the underlying metaphor is not. Both depict modes of human conveyance in a state of suspended animation with no chance of un-pause.

Before the first bar of "October" spills out of your speaker, it's patently clear these guys have issues with time. After the first bar has come and gone, the Skyline psychology begins to come into focus. There's not much wrong with the song-- it's a pleasant, fairly shallow '70s soft-rock portrait. With one eye set wistfully on the recent past, National Skyline fix the other on the future. Blips, percussive e-maraca sounds, and spindly synthlines ornament what would be the perfect closing-credits track, should yet another movie be made about Steve Prefontaine. Things are still under control.

"Identity Crisis" blows that control all to hell. Imagine if James Cameron had cast Matthew Sweet instead of Arnold Schwarzenegger in Terminator; now, picture Sweet standing in front of the hotel room mirror taking out his eye, revealing the red laser-eye and circuitry beneath. Somehow, I doubt National Skyline would find such an assessment flattering, but that's the perfect visual summation for what this song attempts. There's also something unbecomingly Beck-ish about the track, minus, of course, the virtuosic arrangement and carefree aplomb that makes Beck's foppish irony endurable. (In fact, it sounds uncannily like "The New Pollution.") Again, if you cared enough to pinpoint the "where" of "what went wrong," you'd have to look at the liberally strewn electronic garnishing. Starting at the second verse, we're treated to a "futuristic" electronic insect sound that persists for the rest of the song's duration. It's as if the band isn't comfortable donning the retro mantle, and believes that the addition of canned pitter-patter drums and a bit of R2D2 is the trick to disguising their leanings or rejuvenating a tired sound.

The problems extend further. Setting aside the gimmickry, there's still something remarkably dead about the retro maneuvering itself. These are sounds for people who buy into the myth that we've reached the dead end of the road, hit our noses up against the wall of progress, and are left no choice but to turn around and play musical pastiche with the past. What National Skyline fail to realize is that people will continue to make music, the vocabulary will continue to expand, and music will forge ahead.

Things further deteriorate on "Ghosts." Think a Ben Lee-composed score for Sonny Crocket to drive to after his girl-of-the-week has died in a boat explosion. (I could have saved her. Why does this always happen?) To be fair, I have to admit that if the Columbians blew up my love interest and I had a red Ferrari to cruise around in, I could probably get into this.

The final track is both the best and worst of the four. You'd think the Cure made a guest appearance to lend the track that shimmery, sun-bouncing-off-the-water guitar. The drums also come courtesy of Disintegration. Then, after the vocals subside, a driving bassline emerges as the principle melody-- the most memorable of the whole EP. But before long, it's back to the future with a bonus ten minutes of seashell-to-the-ear fuzz tacked onto the end.

National Skyline are a capable bunch, and can write a good tune. If you've ever heard "Metropolis," you might agree. But for whatever reason, the boys have chosen this path for now. If you were a fan or their respective ex-bands, be warned that this resembles neither Jeff Garber's work in Castor, nor Jeff Dimpsey's stay with Hum. Jim Minor, formerly of Compound Red, likewise seems to check his previous leanings at the door. Unfortunately, they all came to an agreement on the subject of future-retro. Fish scales are iridescent and very pretty in the light. Sequins do an impressive job of mimicking fish scales. I would not eat a fish that wore sequins. Same goes for my music.

-Camilo Arturo Leslie